One Ray of the Lowering Sun
Standing in our garden’s sour ruin, I
hold a small piece of real estate in
my hands & squeeze it until it breaks
apart into a fine crumble that will be-
come so many rows of feathery green—
our future shares of misunderstood yet
loved vegetables that will fill our store
of round bottom baskets waiting in
the milk house. This year I want to
understand how this all works. I want
to hold up that one perfect tomato
to the sun and say, this is ours, which
inevitably will be yours, too.
The Cool Light of a Late Summer Morning
How did we sleep last night?
1.
I think of the dream before the dream that woke me:
Sun— its brash light splashes upon our faces. We sit
on the break wall, watching an infantry of white-
capped waves marching onto shore with an expected
hard slap– the air shakes. We agree to disagree, and
push our chairs back without getting up. We can’t
afford to lose our seats.
2.
The dream that woke me has been following me
for a week now—another gathering near water.
There are white lawn chairs and mild air, and voices
talking like fizzy drinks. There’s a tow-headed baby
smiling at a woman who is singing to him. He puts
out his hand, then loses balance & falls into the lake;
his small hand waving just below the surface . . .
My face presses hard against the mattress, listening
for that sudden pop of breath.
M.J. Iuppa ‘s fourth poetry collection is This Thirst (Kelsay Books, 2017). For the past 29 years, she has lived on a small farm near the shores of Lake Ontario. Check out her blog: mjiuppa.blogspot.com for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.
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